The Last Pilgrims (17 page)

The Haltoms were a very nice couple, and she
really liked them a lot, but they were hopeless and helpless
against the mind siege that accompanied the collapse. The day after
they arrived at the Haltom’s home, Hamish offered them money to
take him to town, but Doc Haltom wouldn’t take any money. He said
that he was just being neighborly, adding that things were going to
“get back to normal soon,” and that he was only doing what he hoped
someone would do for them under the same circumstances.

The four of them piled into the Haltom’s car
and drove into Albany to buy supplies and groceries and maybe fill
some gas cans so they could retrieve the car from the highway. She
had always been told that there was at least a three-day’s supply
of food at any grocery store, but that lie was exposed pretty
quickly. Now, she knew that the supply would last for three days
so long as nothing was wrong
. If things got bad, the supply
was only good for a couple of hours… maybe. The store had been
cleaned out, as had the feed store and the hardware/sporting goods
store. The commercial part of town had, for the most part, been
abandoned.

Doc’s wife May pronounced firmly that
everything would be ok, and that things would come around soon
enough, so they all went back to the house to wait for the return
to normalcy that had been always been promised to them. At that
time, they hadn’t considered that the promise had been made by
everyone with a vested interest in the status quo.

The promise of ‘normalcy’ was a mantra and
maxim of that unholy trinity of bad ideas and ungodly living—the
world, the government, and the church.

For a few days, things went as well as could
be hoped under the extreme situation, as they all waited anxiously
for things to “return to normal.” They paced the house and talked a
lot, making rather superficial preparedness and survival plans.
Hamish and Doc Haltom inventoried what food and supplies were left
in the house, and made lists of what might be needed if they could
find someone with whom to barter, or if they could somehow get to
Abilene.

The news on television waxed worse and
worse; and eventually there was no news, because even the
reporters, cameramen, producers and directors had families and
needed to start fighting for their own lives.

When the reports of riots, fires and death
in American cities and around the world stopped repeating
incessantly on the flat-screen television and were replaced with an
emergency broadcast scroll asking people to ‘stay tuned’, there was
a moment when a palpable sense of panic crossed the faces of
everyone in the room. Still, old Doc Haltom actually seemed
cheerful when he announced that “nothing really bad can happen
here. After all, we’re Americans!”

They were all wrong. The Haltoms and Hamish
were gunned down in the Haltom’s living room as they stared at the
TV vainly hoping that something, anything, would come on to replace
the scrolling ‘stay tuned’ that had been their only message for two
days.

Ana had walked down the alley behind the
Haltoms’ small house in order to see if she could get a sense of
what was happening outside. She needed a walk and being cooped up
in the house for days had done nothing to ease her anxiety and
fear.
Jonathan Wall talked about this
, she had thought then.
He said that all of this was inevitable
.

She knew that the Vallensian community was
only a few hours south of Albany, and she wondered if Hamish would
now consider listening to what Jonathan had to say.

Maybe there was enough gas left in the
Haltoms’ car to make it south to the Vallenses. Maybe. Then she
wondered how many thousands of people might be flooding into
Central Texas hoping that the Vallenses—the same plain people who
they had all once considered cute, quaint, or even crazy—would
provide for them. Why would the Vallenses help any of these people?
After all, they had willfully chosen not to heed the warnings that
were all around them and had failed to provide for themselves. The
least she could do was talk to Hamish and Doc Haltom about it, she
concluded. She had just committed to that plan when she heard the
gunshots.

Shocked and frightened, she ran back towards
the house, but before she could even make it into the backyard, she
saw what seemed to her like twenty gunmen ransacking the house. She
crouched behind a dumpster until the men left.

She paused from sharpening the stone, and
despite the heat of the summer day, a chill went down her spine.
Even after 20 years, the image of the scene she encountered in the
house was still vivid in her mind.

Hamish and the Haltoms had each been shot in
the head, their blood mingling together and soaking into the
upholstery. Almost everything in the house of any value had been
stolen, and she could hear gunshots as the gang moved down the
street.

In movies, things are explained and the
viewer usually gets to grasp the ‘why’ behind the plot. The script
usually answers your questions and the ending always makes sense.
In real life, when the invisible and often imaginary threads that
hold a society together are violently ripped apart, there are no
pat answers. When the superficial veil of order gives way to the
real chaos that reigns underneath it all, sometimes murderers just
disappear down the street and you never know their back story or
when or if they ever met with some kind of cosmic justice. Either
way, Hamish was dead and she was alone.

Everything in her being told her to just run
and try to get away, but panic, confusion and grief had washed over
her to the point that she couldn’t move at all. The only thought
that made sense to her was that the gang who had killed her husband
and the Haltoms wasn’t likely to return. So she stayed in the
house, hiding in the Haltoms’ bedroom for two days. Finally, the
stench of death got to be too much for her and she decided to walk
southward under the cover of darkness. The entirety of her plan
could be distilled down to one word—s
outh
. With that in
mind, she had walked.

Ana looked up and she found that in her
reverie she had walked to the threshing barn and the sun was
starting to dip lower into the western sky.

In just a few days, if the Lord willed it,
this barn would be a beehive of activity, as men and women carried
in the sheaves and the business of threshing and winnowing would
begin. Long flails—sticks with thin boards lashed to the end of
them using leather straps —would be used to beat the sheaves placed
on the threshing floor. When the sheaves were sufficiently beaten,
the straw would be removed, and the doors on the opposite sides of
the barn would be opened to allow a breeze to pass through the
barn. The mass would be thrown into the air, the wind separating
the wheat from the chaff.

She was convinced now that God knows just
how much of a beating it takes to get rid of the chaff. She nodded
her head at that thought. The world was God’s field. First, the
tares were ripped up from the field, and burned. Then the wheat was
beaten to remove the chaff. From all of this, God brought forth the
crop that he intended. Ana laughed. How different the reality was
from the religious prophetic fantasies that had overflowed the
world in the decades prior to the collapse!

Ruth walked up as Ana was in the doorway of
the threshing barn, looking down at the six-inch board that had to
be stepped over to get in or out of the door.

“That’s a threshold, Ruth.”

“I know that Mrs. McLennon! I’ve lived here
all of my life!”

“Did you know that in the world the people
call the entranceway to any door a ‘threshold’, even though they
have no idea what that means?”

“No. I didn’t know that.”

“A threshold keeps the wheat in so when the
wind blows the lighter chaff away, the heavier wheat falls to the
floor and is kept in the barn by the threshold board.” Ana looked
at Ruth and smiled. “Both the wheat and the chaff are blown by the
wind, but since the wheat kernel has the weight of God’s goodness
in it, it drops and is separated from the lighter and worthless
chaff. It is kept safe by the threshold.”

“I never thought of it that way, Mrs
McLennon. I just always thought it kind of made sense not to let
the wheat blow out through the door.”

“Everything around us is there to teach us
how God deals with us, Ruth. I never knew or cared for such matters
back when I lived in the world—back before the crash. The modern
religious world wasn’t in the business of teaching us such things.”
Ana took a deep breath, then put her arm around Ruth.

“So, how are you doing… I mean, since the
battle, and Jack’s funeral and everything else going on. How are
you holding up, young Miss Wall?”

“I’m doing fine, thanks. Father told us that
it is very likely there will be another Aztlani attack soon. But I
don’t think we know much yet about when or where or what to
expect.”

“Although there is no doubt that your father
is a good man, he doesn’t tell you everything, Ruth. He protects us
women from the very imminent and real danger of us knowing too much
and thus worrying.”

The brightness of the summer day had given
way to the softer light and longer shadows of evening. Dozens of
Vallenses were departing the fields and heading back to their
camps, some talking quietly and others laughing at some quip or
joke.

“We must head home now, dear Ruth,” she said
wiping dust from her apron. “Wally will have supper ready
soon.”

As the two walked, they talked about Ruth’s
day. Ruth told her that three large pigs had been caught in the
traps, and that there had been a frightening event near the camps
when some of the Vallensian women had seen a mountain lion cross
the road only a half mile from the front gate.

“It seems that the predators are getting an
upper hand for the time being,” she told Ruth.

“Father says that the system of predator and
prey eventually balances itself out, but I can tell you this… we
have never seen so many wild pigs. We may get fat…
if
we
aren’t killed by them while walking to the outhouse at night!” Ruth
exclaimed.

“A mountain lion brave enough to come so
close to people frightens me more than some silly old pigs,” Ana
said, laughing.

“That’s because you’ve never been face to
face with a charging wild boar!”

“That is true, dear. That is true,” she
admitted.

As they drew near the gate, they heard the
sound of horses behind them and turned to see a militia contingent
approaching. Timothy was in the front, riding abreast of Piggy.
Behind them was Tim’s best friend The Hood, along with Enos Flynn,
and Pachuco Reyes.

“It seems that your father has invited the
heroes of the Battle of Bethany Pass to his table to share in some
wild boar roast this evening.”

Ruth smiled in response, “This ought to be
interesting.”

There was muted joviality and much
conversation over a supper of tender roasted pork, browned sweet
potatoes drenched in butter, sautéed onions, slow-cooked black
beans, and a delicious desert of peaches and heavy cream. Ruth and
Timothy caught up on the day’s happenings and Ana told them funny
stories of her earliest failed attempts at processing deer
hides.

After supper, in the pale moonlight, Ruth
and Ana were accompanied by Tim, Hood, and Piggy, as they walked
out among the campfires and tents of the refugees and visited old
and new friends. The party arrived at the tent of Ruth’s sister
Betsy and her husband Paul, and Ruth began to chase and play with
her nephews Jon and Thomas while Ana helped Betsy with the supper
dishes.

Elizabeth Miller, who Ana had always known
as Betsy Wall, had grown into a strong and capable woman. She had
her mother’s strawberry blonde hair, as well as her strong hands
and will. She had developed into every bit the hearty, intelligent,
and industrious Vallensian wife that her father had trained her to
be. She was not the deadly hunter that Ruth was, nor was she as
avid a reader, philosopher, and thinker as her brother David. In
truth, Ana thought, she had become what every Vallensian woman
wanted to be. She was a good woman, a good wife, and a good
mother.

“You know that you are all welcome to come
and eat at the house with your father, Betsy.”

“Oh, we know, Ana,” Betsy replied, smiling.
“We just don’t want to be an added burden, and we really feel that
we belong out here in the camps, with our neighbors and friends.
Father would take every one of the Vallenses into his home if he
could, and we all love him for that. But he raised me to love and
care for our people as much as he does, and Paul and I really just
want to do what we can out here to help those who need it.”

A gentle breeze was dispersing the heat of
the day, and an occasional firefly would twinkle by in the night,
catching their attention. As the two women dried the last of the
wooden dishes, they could hear Hood, Tim and Piggy laughing over
some joke with Paul, so they joined the men around the
campfire.

Before long, Jonathan and Wally the cook
came up and joined the group. The moonlight had faded and in the
darkness, the Milky Way came clearly into view. Ana never grew
tired of Central Texas nights, and she stared up into the sky in
awe and wonder at the beauty of it all.

Piggy and Tim were arguing about the name of
some constellation or another, when Phillip suddenly, and silently,
approached from the road.

The militiamen stood up, and everyone grew
silent when they saw the serious look on the militia leader’s
face.

Phillip bowed slightly in greeting, and
looked from his men to Jonathan with a pained seriousness etched on
his features.

“I apologize for disturbing your evening.
Trust me, I would have not done so without a good reason.”